


Old Enough

by sandswinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Reader-Insert, legacy, old enough, young reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandswinchester/pseuds/sandswinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few months after Dean and Sam Winchester move into the bunker, they find out about another legacy of the Men of Letters - a very young, civilian legacy, and they don’t know what to do with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Legacy

Sam had been obsessing over the files and documents he came across in the bunker for days at an end. He was totally geeking out to his heart’s content. They’d been there for a while now, getting used to the comforts and many perks of the bunker. _Men of Letters_ was one wonderful, glorious ‘club’ and their hideout was badass. They were both starting to understand what Henry Winchester – his grandfather – had said and why he had felt so regretful of the fact that he hadn’t been able to initiate John and eventually Sam and Dean officially to the organization as the legacies they were truly meant to be.

 

Dean was no different from Sam. He just couldn’t get enough of the Samurai swords and all the other weaponry carefully collected and gloriously displayed throughout the bunker. The journal by Samuel Colt was the best find so far. That was what he had been rifling through when Sam had barged into his room.

 

“Ever heard of knocking?” Dean sat up, barking at his brother.

 

“Why? Were you jerking off?” Sam threw back at him with a smug smirk on his face.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I could have been. Jerk.”

 

“Bitch,” Sam laughed. “So anyway get this. There just might be another legacy. Someone other than us.”

 

This made Dean bolt right up. “You mean another descendent of an original member of the _Men of Letters_? I bet he’s one badass hunter!”

 

“She, you mean…” Sam corrected. “No hunter activity as far as I can tell. She’s an artist, actually.”

 

“An artist, huh? How’d you even come by this information?”

 

Sam shrugged sheepishly. “I research? A lot,” he said simply, not wanting to go into detail about how he had spent hours getting to know the past members. It had been purely by accident, and with a little help from the internet that he’d come across Y/N Y/L/N.

 

“Geek,” Dean taunted, but Sam only laughed at that. “So what are you saying? Are we going to drag that poor girl into the bunker and this life too?” Sam stared at his brother without a word since that had  been _exactly_ what he had planned. “Bad idea, Sammy! Dude, what the hell!”

 

“She’s a legacy, Dean,” Sam said in exasperation. “She has a right to know, and as the only surviving members of the _Men of Letters_ , it is our responsibility to initiate her. Beyond that, she can choose whether to stay or go.”

 

Dean shook his head. Sam was getting way too into the whole _Men of Letters_ thing. If he didn’t know any better, Dean would have thought Sam had been in the institution pretty much all his life. He was acting like a true member – an insufferable know-it-all. “So what’s your plan?”

 

“Grab the keys,” Sam said grinning way too giddily for a 31 year old grown man. “We are going to an art exhibition.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Y/N had led a pretty simple life. Her parents had died when she had been sixteen, and she had taken care of herself ever since then. It hadn’t been easy but she had managed just fine. She was twenty two now and she had established herself as quite a well known artist. The pay wasn’t great but it was a way of expression for her abundant energy and creativity. All in all, she had done quite well for herself.

 

So when two weirdly attractive men had shown up to her exhibition with an even weirder tale about some secret organization she should have called them crazy – because that was surely what they were – and told them to go to hell. Except, her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

 

And that was how she found herself in a hole of a bunker somewhere in Kansas with Sam and Dean Winchester.

 

When they had told her of demons, werewolves, vampires, ghouls and ghosts, she probably should have run the other way. When they told her that they hunted all those things for a living, she should have called the cops or something. But she had a feeling she couldn’t just shake off. The tales they told, she felt like she had known deep down for them to all be true. She couldn’t understand why or how but she knew. She just _knew_.

 

Their first hunt together had proven how right they had been. It was nothing major – just a simple ‘salt and burn’ ghost case as they said, and that was probably why they even let her tag along in the first place. Seeing that flickering visage of a now dead human had made a believer out of her.

 

They’d let her in on the researching part of it, and her ability to read with twice the speed as an average person came in quite handy. “It’s like you’re just scanning a book and downloading its content,” Sam had said completely impressed, unable to hide his awe. “Just check this out, Dean! She’s a total natural at this…definitely a _Men of Letters_ legacy.” Dean had only grunted in response from where he sat.

 

 _Dean Winchester_ , the older of the two very attractive ‘hunters’ and her mentors. When Sam went out of his way to make her feel comfortable and welcome in what was supposed to be her new home and new life, Dean made it his life’s mission to skeptically stare at her as if her presence was the vilest thing in his vicinity.

 

She hadn’t understood his dislike of her until one day she had overheard him say to Sam, “She’s too young, Sammy! A little suburban artist for god’s sake! She might be good with her paint brushes but she sure as hell doesn’t know how to shoot a gun or basically just not get killed. She’s a liability!” She had only known them for a little while but still the words hurt like knives in her heart. He didn’t even _know_ her damn it! He knew nothing about her. _Nothing._

Ever since then, she had done her best to keep her distance from him. He left her to her own devices, meaning research, research and more research. She tended to ignore him and his rude staring whenever she could.

 

Not today though. Today she had a bone to pick with the arrogant asshat.

 

She burst into his room right behind him. “Dean! Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

 

“What?” He turned back to her with his bitch-face on.

 

His glare wasn’t going to faze her. She knew what she wanted and she was going to get it one way or the other! “I am going on this hunt. I’ve trained, done my research, learnt everything I could from Sam,” she listed holding up her hand and folding a finger with each item on the list. “ _Sam_ thinks I’m ready. _I_ think I’m ready. So what gives, damn it?”

 

He folded his hands and looked down at her with and intimidating stare. Y/N held her ground. “I don’t think you’re ready. End of story,” he declared and turned around to switch on his music player.

 

 _Led Zeppelin_ started playing. Usually, Y/N would lean back and enjoy Dean’s music from her own room. She liked his taste. Today she reached out and shut the player off. “ _Not_ end of story!” Folding her hands in front of her chest, she glared daggers at his back.

 

He turned back around to face her with a look of utter disgust on his face. “Seriously, _kid_? Are you going to throw a tantrum about this?” There he goes again, stressing on the ‘kid’ and throwing her age around as if it was an epithet. Yes, fine, she is twenty-two and thirteen years younger but she was _not_ an infant, even though at times that’s exactly what he made her sound like.

 

“This is _not_ a tantrum,” she said lowering her voice and trying to appear calmer than she actually was. “What I am trying to do is have a discussion with you. Can we discuss this like adults, please?”

 

He scoffed in disdain. “Adults? Fine. I’m telling you in a very adult-like manner to your very adult-like self that you are just not going on this hunt. End of discussion, capisce?”

 

She rolled his eyes. “Who’s the kid now, Dean?” She stepped closer, invading his personal space. She knew he hated it, for she’d seen him berate Cas for the same thing.

 

As they stared at each other, her eyes narrowed in determination, and his observing her warily, she couldn’t resist noticing how good he smelled – all leather, whiskey and man. It didn’t help that she was incredibly attracted to him, down to the little crow’s feet around his eyes and the prickly stubble on his cheek that she itched to rub her face against. Still, Dean Winchester was an insufferable moron and she just _hated_ him sometimes!

 

She was up in his face, all but spitting fire with her eyes. Dean wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off her pouting lips – preferably with his own. Sometimes she pushed him so far that all he wanted was to push her against the nearest hard surface and show her who was in control. She was just a baby – a gorgeously attractive, fiery, twenty-year old baby that drove him crazy in more ways than one.

 

“Why don’t you test me, Winchester?” she hissed, and for a moment he thought she was reading his wayward thoughts about her. Then he realized that she meant about their argument. “Why don’t you test me and see if I’m ready or not?” To him, the taunt held so much innuendo and he knew she was saying it without realizing what it did to him.

 

He thought about her suggestion. He hadn’t been part of Sam’s training sessions with her so he didn’t know how far she had progressed but the suggestion was enticing. He would love to put Baby Face in her little rightful place – back in the bunker, doing her research. He was all for equal rights and all but she was new to this still, and he wasn’t going to be the reason why she got killed. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her be the reason why they end up dead or worse.

 

“Fine. I’ll test you,” he said, smirking right back at her. “Get out of these stuffy clothes,” he instructed making her eyes widen with surprise and sending a pool of heat to her core. “And meet me at the gym,” he continued with the smirk still plastered across his face. “Let’s see what you got, Baby Face.”


	2. Two Out of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Y/N demands to go on a relatively dangerous hunt, Dean decides to test her capabilities, and along the way, end up testing his endurance in resisting her.

_**Recap:**  _

_Few months after Dean and Sam Winchester move into the bunker, they find out about another legacy of the Men of Letters - a very_ young _, civilian legacy, and they don’t know what to do with her._

* * *

 

 

Dean changed into a pair of track pants and a thin black t-shirt. Thinking of the sudden cold drafts in the gun range, he also pulled a grey hoodie-sweatshirt over himself and walked towards the gym.

 

 

“I’m going out for a supply run,” Sam said absent-mindedly as he searched for the keys to the Impala. When Dean handed them to him, he looked up and raised a brow at Dean, taking in his brother’s attire. “Uh, are _you_ going for a _run_ or something?” He was incredulous considering the fact that Dean _never_ ran. Not unless he had to and something was chasing after him.

 

 

“I’m testing Y/N to see if she’s ready to go on this vampire hunt with us,” Dean explained.

 

 

“She is,” Sam insisted with a smug smile on his face. “I trained her, remember?”

 

 

“Yeah, well whatever,” Dean said rolling his eyes at Sam’s annoyingly overflowing confidence. “She ain’t going on anything until I think she is ready.”

 

 

Sam’s eyebrows went up on his forehead, and a knowing smile crept up on his lips. “You’re getting awful protective.”

 

 

“Shut up,” Dean said, annoyed and exasperated with whatever Sam was trying to insinuate. “She’s my responsibility. _Our_ responsibility, Sam. I’m not taking her half-cocked to a nest full of vampires all ready to be vamp food, okay?” Sam didn’t say anything, but stared at him with that stupid grin on his face. “Shut up and go get your supplies.”

 

 

Sam held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “I’m going, I’m going!” Then he noticed Y/N walk into the room as well. To them both, he said, “Keep it civil, you two. No killing each other while I’m away!”

 

 

“No promises!” Y/N yelled back to Sam’s parting back, laughing to herself.

 

 

Dean turned to find her standing with her hands on her hips, and he felt as if his breath had been knocked right out of his lungs. She wore a long pair of grey leggings that hugged the curves of her toned legs to such detail that she might as well have been naked. Her upper body was covered in nothing but a black sports bra that extended coverage to a point just in the middle of her abdomen, displaying her belly button for the world to see. _Was she trying to fight him, or seduce him?_ Dean thought to himself and found that he was all of a sudden annoyed with her. He knew he was staring, but for the life of him, he couldn’t look away.

 

 

“Are you going to gawk at me all day, or are you going to show me what you got, Winchester?” she asked, breaking Dean out of his trance. She knew what she was doing to him. She was an attractive woman and Dean, after all, was a red-blooded man. She had known exactly what effect she’d have on him when she had picked out the outfit for their little escapade.

 

_Show you what I got? Nothing I’d like more, Baby Face,_ Dean thought to himself even though he perfectly knew she was out of bounds to him. Wordlessly, he led her to the gun range, and handed her a gun. “Shoot. Aim for the heart, and the head,” he instructed.

 

 

She looked down at the gun, and then at him. “I don’t understand. Why would I be _shooting_ at vampires? It doesn’t do anything to them,” she pointed out. Something in his jaw tightened and Y/N knew she probably shouldn’t push him, even if it brought her intense satisfaction to do so. She covered her ears with the mufflers and picked up the gun.

 

 

She thoughtlessly aimed, wondering what in the world was wrong with her. She had had a _thing_ for the older Winchester since basically forever. He treated her like a pariah at times, and yet she was drawn to him. Maybe that was even _why_ she was so intensely attracted to him – the whole wanting what one can’t have and all that. It sure did help that he was one gorgeously good looking devil.

 

 

Lost in thought, she didn’t feel his presence until it was too late. “Your form is all wrong,” he said with a knowing smirk on his face. He leaned in, his front to her back, and gently lifted her arm, correcting her stance.

 

 

“I know how to shoot,” she told him.

 

 

“Yeah? Doesn’t look like it from here,” he said, still not moving away. He was so, _so_ close that his heat enveloped her and she felt goosebumps on her skin. She told herself it was the draft and tried to focus. He looked down at her from where he stood behind her, and for a moment it felt like his lips were beckoning to her. _If I kissed your taunting lips right now, what would you do, Dean?_ She forced her gaze to remain on his eyes. “Why don’t you show me, Baby Face?” he said and stepped back. She regretted the loss of his towering presence but was grateful for the room to breathe. She was starting to feel trapped and feelings she didn’t want to let out were starting to emerge.

 

 

She took the stance, raised the gun and shot at the targets. Two bullets were fired – one straight to the heart, and the other dead center on the forehead. She turned around to face him with a smirk. “Seen enough?”

 

 

Dean tried to dial down the pride in his voice when he said, “Good job, kid. Sammy taught you well, I see.”

 

 

She scoffed. “And my natural talent of course,” she said with a flip of her hair.

 

 

He watched her movements and how the wayward strands came to fall back, resting gently on the curve of her breasts. She was making him feel things he had no right to feel – especially for someone as young and innocent as her. Compared to her, he was freaking ancient. He forced his gaze to her eyes, which had a knowing look in them. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. _The minx!_ “The gym. Now,” he said, taking the lead out of the room, making her follow him. Angrily, he willed himself to get his shit under control.

 

 

Once they reached the gym, she watched him unzip his sweatshirt with deliberate slowness. He stripped it off as he spoke, watching her watch him warily. “You proved your skill with a gun. I’m impressed. But…” he trailed off raising his arms above him, stretching. Y/N could see the muscles bulge and contract with his movements. It was so freaking _sexy_ , she was astounded at her own self-control. She had always been an ‘arms’ girl. _Always._ And boy, oh boy! Did Dean have arms!“This hunt will involve more hand-to-hand combat,” Dean continued. “With things twice your size and strength. So you and I, we are going to fight. If you can beat me, you are in. If not, you stay behind, no questions asked. Agreed?”

 

 

Y/N mirrored his actions and stretched out her tense muscles. His glance was drawn to the rise and fall of her breasts and the skin that was exposed with her movements. “Alright, agreed.” Then she added, almost jeering, “But I don’t want to hurt you, Dean…”

 

 

Dean smirked at her, completely disregarding that statement. “Give me all you got, Baby Face,” he said, his voice low, taunting her with a motion of his hand.

 

 

Taking a fighting stance, they circled each other until she directed her first punch at him, which he effortlessly blocked with excellent footwork. He was fast, but she could be faster. She spun around swiftly, landing a blow to his gut. He bent over clutching where she had hit. “Oh my God,” she gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “Are you okay?” She reached out to touch him, genuinely concerned she had hit him too hard.

 

 

Big mistake. With a feral look in his eyes, he tackled her to the ground. Caught completely unaware, she was easily under him, pinned to the floor. With the cold seeping through to her back from the cement, and the heat of him above her, she glared at him. “You cheated!” she accused him.

 

 

“Did I?” he smirked down at her. “You lose your focus, one second is all it’s gonna take.” His grip on his wrist tightened. “Got it, Baby Face?”

 

 

“Two out of three?” she challenged.

 

 

He peered into her eyes, gauging her, trying to see what she was up to. Still, Dean was confident enough in his ability to best her that he took her up on her offer. Letting go of her wrists, he stood up. “Two out of three,” he agreed.

 

_Focus, Y/N,_ she told herself for this was her chance to prove the asshat wrong. She _was_ good enough. She was no liability. She got this. She freaking _got this_ , damn it!

 

 

Again, they circled around each other, but this time she waited for him to make the move. Using her small size to her advantage, she danced around his punches and kicks. She knew when one landed on her side that he was definitely holding himself back, unlike her. She flipped around and kicked him on the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees. As he knelt before her, she pulled his head backwards from his hair, opening up his neck and made a chopping off motion with her palm. “Tag, you’re dead.” Then she pushed him forward and stood back watching him get to his feet.

 

 

Dean ran a hand through his hair, and grinned at her. Maybe, just maybe, he had underestimated Y/N. She sure knew how to pack a punch. Unlike him, who used his strength in the fight, she used her agility. He had to give her points for that. But the game wasn’t over yet. “Two out of three, remember?”

 

 

She smirked at him, taunting him with her hand gestures just as he had taunted her before. “Bring it on, Winchester.”

 

 

This time, he didn’t waste time circling or playing around. He dove straight at her, bulldozing her to the ground, getting her under him in a matter of seconds. He knocked the wind right out of her. She stared up at him as he held her down, both her hands fitting into one of his palms. “This is not fair, Dean!” she yelled.

 

 

“You think those vamps are gonna play _fair_ , Y/N?” he asked and she bucked her hips at him, trying to get free. An involuntary groan escaped his lips as she rubbed against him through the thin layer of clothes between them, and her eyes raced to meet his. He loosened his grip. “Enough fighting for a day, don’t you think? I win, kid.”

 

 

“I think not,” she gasped, and wrapped both her legs around him, effectively tumbling him down. She straddled him, purposely landing herself on his crotch. She ‘cut’ his throat with her palm, and said, “You’re dead, Winchester, and _I_ win.”

 

 

He stared back at her, knowing she had indeed won. A knowing smile spread across her face, as she made no move to climb off him. In fact, he felt her press even closer, and he knew that she must be feeling his semi-hard cock against her for sure. He couldn’t help the red that crept up his face. _Fuck_.

 

 

“I like winning,” she told him, leaning down and bringing her face close to his, which in turn pressed him firmly in between her thighs. He groaned inside, part of him wanting to just rip the clothes apart and sink into her, damning the consequences. “I like being on top,” she said with a wink. She was referring to the fight, of course…or _was_ she? Dean couldn’t know anymore.

 

 

“What’s going on here?” Sam’s voice interrupted them. She turned around to see him standing against the door, watching the two of them on the floor.

 

 

She got up and grinned at the younger Winchester. “Oh nothing. I just beat Dean in hand-to-hand combat and freaking _earned_ my place in this hunt.”

 

 

Sam grinned back at her, pleased with her accomplishment. “Nice going, kid,” he said, patting her back as she walked out the gym without a backward glance at Dean.

 

 

Dean rose to his feet and made a move to the exit but Sam blocked his way. “Not so fast, Dean.” He looked at his brother, questioningly. “What’s _really_ going on here?” Sam asked, suspicion growing in his eyes. “Don’t try anything, you hear?” he warned. “She’s thirteen years younger than you, man. _Thirteen._ And we have to work with her, and like you said, she’s our responsibility. Don’t get any ideas okay?”

 

 

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He hadn’t even _done_ anything to warrant this tirade. Right? He almost had, but he had stopped himself in time. “Are you done?” he asked. Sam’s bitch face was the only response he received. “Get out of my way,” he mumbled and walked out feigning annoyance.

 

 

He walked into his room and went straight to the shower. He stripped off his clothes, and stepped into the cold water – a blessedly welcomed feeling after the heat Y/N had caused within him. He was burning up with hunger. His hunger for _her_. He cursed her _and_ himself. _Damn you._

 

 

He couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind – her looking so gloriously feisty in that barely covering sports bra and leggings. Without conscious thought, his hand moved to his cock and started moving in its own volition. He recalled the feel of her against him, so soft, and feminine – his hand moved faster. The look on her face when she had defeated him, the way she had watched his reaction to her, all-knowing and triumphant. He imagined her mouth around him, soft, wet and warm, and then he wondered what it would feel like to finally sink into her warmth, slick and oh so ready for him. Somewhere deep down, he felt this was wrong but in that moment, he just couldn’t care. He wanted, _needed_ release and Y/N’s sweet, taunting lips were the only things in his mind. When he came, her name was a sigh on his lips – a sigh of pent up longing and desire.

 

 

Little did he know that in her own room, she was moaning his name as she found her release, wrapped up in a fantasy of him.


	3. Slice of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N’s first hunt with the Winchesters doesn’t exactly go as planned and now she has to deal with a very pissed off Dean Winchester. It doesn’t help that her personal source of entertainment is taunting him by wearing the shortest shorts imaginable in the bunker.

Angry would have been the wrong word. Furious would have been too mild a word to describe the state Dean Winchester was in at the moment as he pressed hard on the gas and pummeled down the road, making the tires of the Impala screech in protest.

 

 

Sam turned to glance at Y/N who sat in the backseat, her eyes widened and hugging herself. “You okay?” he asked gently, taking in the shock written all over her face.

 

 

Nodding her agreement, she began, barely noticing Sam shake his head in warning. “Dude, I totally had it, okay? I just didn’t expect that thing to –”

 

 

“You _had_ it?” Dean roared, glaring at her through the rearview mirror. Sam visibly winced, turning his eyes to stare straight at the road ahead. Dean only grew more furious as he remembered how she had basically run in front of a fang bearing vamp, completely unprepared and vulnerable. He bit back the words he wanted to throw at her and simply sped up.

 

 

The entire ride back to the bunker was completely silent, but highly charged with intensity. Without even AC/DC to break the tension, Dean’s seething anger and Y/N’s indignation took over the atmosphere.

 

 

When they pulled into the garage, Dean slammed the car door behind him. “She’s _never_ going hunting again! _Never_ , you hear me?” he shouted, making Y/N gasp out her resentment of his declaration. With those angrily uttered words hanging in the air, he left.

 

 

“Sam, he can’t be serious…” she said, trying to plead with the more reasonable brother.

 

 

He held up his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t look at me.” Then almost as an afterthought, he asked her, genuinely curious, “Seriously though, what in the world were you thinking barging at a vampire in full rage mode?”

 

 

Y/N sheepishly shrugged trying to be nonchalant about what could have been a very serious situation. “I _was_ going for its head. But then…” she trailed off, remembering the feeling of numbness that had swept over her.

 

 

“You panicked when you actually had to do it,” Sam finished for her and she nodded her agreement. “You should have directly told us if you weren’t ready, kiddo. You don’t have to put up some brave act with us.”

 

 

She simply tried to smile in response and watched the younger Winchester walk away from her. _Maybe this life just ain’t for me,_ she thought to herself sadly, but then tried to shake herself out of her own doubts. She had every intention of _making_ it her life. She had to prove her worth to her ancestors, whoever they were. She was a Woman of Letters, damn it! It was her right, wasn’t it? More importantly, she’d die before she ever let Dean Winchester define who she was and what she could and could not do. No freaking way in hell!

 

* * *

 

 

Y/N rolled around in her bed. Sleep seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind. She picked up her phone on the nightstand and peered at the screen in the dark. It was three in the morning and her stomach was grumbling.

 

 

Dinner had been such a tense affair that she hadn’t been able to really eat anything on her plate. Dean had only silently glared at her – she hadn’t known if it was because of the little hunting incident or because she was picking at her plate of pasta, which of course he had cooked. That was when she had smugly pushed the plate away, and had walked out, thinking, _In your face, Winchester. You and your stupid pasta can kiss my ass!_

 

 

That had been the stupidest thing she’d done that night – well, second stupidest, if you were _really_ counting. Now here she was, lying awake in the middle of the night, completely starving. She pushed the covers off her and stomped into the kitchen as softly as she could, internally cursing a certain Winchester.

 

 

The fridge was impeccably stocked with everything fresh and nutritious – God bless, Sammy. There was leftover pasta in Tupperware, some Greek yogurt, and a slice or two of pizza among other things. Yet one thing stood out from the rest, beckoning to her, almost seeming to be bathed in an inviting glow. The last slice of Pecan pie.

 

 

Her eyes moved from the pasta to the pie, caught in an internal war. She knew Dean had been saving that slice, with every intention of savoring it. It was the biggest deterrent, and at the same time, it was also the biggest incentive. “Come to Mama,” she whispered to the little piece of heaven on a plate as she took it out.

 

She didn’t bother with a seat, or even moving to the table. Standing there at the counter, she dug her fork into the deliciousness. With every savored mouthful, she cursed, _Fuck you too, Winchester!_ She was feeling giddy. She didn’t know if it was the satisfaction of the pie, or knowing that she had hit him where it hurt.

 

 

And that was how Dean found her when he sleepily walked into the kitchen to grab some water in the middle of the night – leaning against the kitchen counter, her long legs shown off in the shortest shorts in existence, and digging into something in earnest. He held back the chuckle that almost escaped him. He was still mad at her. “Having a midnight snack, are we?” he mumbled, and she froze with her fork in mid air.

 

 

She turned to glance back at him, and he could clearly see she was not wearing anything beneath her flimsy tank top. Instead of answering him, she picked up her dish and turned to face him, happily chewing away, unashamed.

 

 

Dean’s eyes widened at the sight before him as he watched her take another mouthful. “That’s my pie,” he whispered, unable to believe that she had actually dared. She’d dared to go _there_! How could she?! No one messes with Dean Winchester and his pie. No one, damn it!

 

 

She gave him a cheeky smile and turned around, facing away from him. She was feeling very smugly satisfied. _Take that, Winchester!_

 

Dean opened the fridge, hoping to take the rest of the pie out. When realization of the situation dawned on him, an involuntary gasp left him. He stood up closing the fridge and glared at her back.

 

 

When she got to the last bit, she felt his presence behind him. Every fibre of her being was in attention, and in anticipation. His hand came to rest on either side of her on the marble surface, effectively trapping her between him and the counter. He was so close that his breath ruffled the hair on her nape when he asked in a furious whisper, “Was that the last slice, Y/N?”

 

 

All that greeted him was silence. He stepped even closer, almost allowing their bodies to touch. The heat of his arms made goose bumps rise all over her, and her nipples hardened. She looked down at her chest and groaned, thinking about the teasing she’d now have to endure from him.

 

Demanding an answer, Dean physically turned her around to face him. “Did you eat the last slice of my pie?” he asked again.

 

 

He watched, silently seething, as she took the very last bite to her mouth with deliberate slowness. His eyes honed in on the two pebbled dots on her chest, and just as swiftly, his mind shifted gears. Anger turned into a completely different emotion.

 

 

She bit her lip, staring up at him. It felt like she was taunting him, urging him to exact his revenge on her.

 

 

“That was my pie,” he declared, gazing into her shining eyes. It seemed to happen in slow motion, the descent of his lips. At the same time, it seemed to happen too fast – faster than either of them could comprehend.

 

 

His lips crashed into hers, and there was nothing smooth or romantic about it. It was a grueling kiss of pent up passion and desire. Dean threw aside caution and the voice in his head that screamed he shouldn’t be doing this – that she was far too young for him. She grabbed the hair at his nape, and pushed herself against him, making sure Dean couldn’t think anything anymore.

 

 

She tasted sweet – maybe it was the pie, or just how she naturally tasted like. Basically, Dean did not care. The feel of her was driving him insane. She was like his own personal slice of heaven after feeling starved for centuries. His hand slipped underneath the flimsy material of the tank top, feeling her skin against his palm. She moaned into his mouth, pressing her center against his hardening erection.

 

 

In a sudden jerk, Dean pushed himself back and away from her. She stared back at him, dazed and confused, panting. Her lips were swollen from him ravaging her mouth, and in his mind, she looked perfectly ripe for plucking. Then he mentally cursed at himself for even thinking about her that way. She wasn’t some chick he was picking up from a bar. She wasn’t some one night stand. She was his responsibility and here he was, taking advantage of her in the middle of freaking night. Some guardian he was!

 

 

She watched a myriad of emotions cross Dean’s face, and all she could think was how he had taken her lips and had cast her away just as swiftly like he couldn’t even bear to touch her.

 

 

“Fuck,” he whispered, letting the regret wash over him.

 

That was it. That was all it took for the feeling of hurt within Y/N to turn to boiling anger. She pushed him back with both hands on his chest and put more distance between them. “What the hell, Dean?” she shouted angrily, and walked past him without even bothering to look back at him. How could she have? It wouldn’t do to let him see the tears welling and falling past her eyes. He didn’t need to see how he had hurt her… _again_.


End file.
